O, father dear I oftimes hear you speak of Erin’s IsleHer lofty scenes, her valleys green, her mountains rude and wildThey say it is a lovely land wherein a prince might dwellSo why did you abandon it, the reason to me tell

My son, I loved my native land with energy and prideTill a blight came over all my crops and my sheep and cattle diedThe rents and taxes were to pay and I could not them redeemAnd that’s the cruel reason why I left old Skibbereen

‘Tis well I do remember that bleak November (/December) dayWhen the bailiff and the landlord came to drive us all awayThey set the roof on fire with their cursed English spleenAnd that’s another reason why I left old Skibbereen

Your mother, too, God rest her soul, lay on the snowy groundShe fainted in her anguishing seeing the desolation roundShe never rose, but passed away from life to immortal dreamsAnd that’s another reason why I left old Skibbereen

Then sadly I recall the days of gloomy forty-eight.I rose in vengeance with the boys to battle again’ fate.We were hunted through the mountains as traitors to the queen,And that, my boy, is the reason why I left old Skibbereen.

Oh you were only two years old and feeble was your frameI could not leave you with my friends for you bore your father’s nameSo I wrapped you in my cóta mór at the dead of night unseenAnd I heaved a sigh and I said goodbye to dear old Skibereen

well father dear, the day will come when on vengeance we will callAnd Irishmen both stout and tall will rally unto the callI’ll be the man to lead the van beneath the flag of greenAnd loud and high we’ll raise the cry, “Revenge for Skibbereen!”